


Venus of Columbia

by EmpressCirque



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Romance, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressCirque/pseuds/EmpressCirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tells herself that dreams are for children, but continues to dreams of better things. Elizabeth Character Study. Elizabeth/Original Female Character. Two shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Discovery

Like many young girls at the tender age of sixteen, Elizabeth believed herself to no longer be an ignorant child, but rather an intelligent, mature, young woman. She was no longer a little Alice trapped in the Wonderland of her juvenile playthings and thoughts. She was much more of a Cosette, or perhaps she more closely resembled the elder Catherine Earnshaw.

Of course, unlike her elder counterparts, she had no men asking for her hand in marriage. No men fought over her affections. No man braved the heights of her tower to free her from the captivity she had known her whole life. Perhaps, she told herself over and over again, that is why these stories were only in books and not in the pictures or newspapers Songbird sometimes brought her.

Yet, there were times, despite the promise she had made to herself to abandon such foolish thoughts, she found herself imagining a dashing prince climbing into her tower. He would pry the door open with his strong hands and guide her away from the floating island without even the slightest struggle.

Once free from the horrible place, he would promise her all of Paris and they would—

Kiss. It was supposed to end with a kiss, was it not? That is what all the fairytales she had read as a child has stated. A prince and princess always kissed at the end of their story, it was a simple, undeniable fact. Yet, Elizabeth could never bring the image of their lips connecting into her mind. It seemed wrong, nothing about it felt right. That, in itself, was even more wrong. A lady was supposed to desire the attentions of a man. A lady, especially a beautiful one, should find the idea of such affections to make her heart race and her knees weaken, but Elizabeth felt none of those things. Perhaps, instead, a simple handshake would do.

After all, a lady should not rush into such things, correct?

A proper lady would take her time with romance and a man should understand that. Perhaps before a kiss, he should take her dancing, or perhaps to a lovely little restaurant by the waterside. Yes, of course, that was all that was wrong. Elizabeth simply needed time—respect – before she could give out a kiss so freely. There was nothing wrong with that, of course not.

Elizabeth had no time for these fairy tales as it was anyway and decided it best to push aside the confusion this entire situation brought her. She instead turned her attention to her books, ones of merit and facts. Books filled with science, history, and the arts. She had wasted too much time already locked away in her dreams and her studies were important to her newfound adulthood after all.

Songbird brought her many books, often several a day, and while many of the books were simple stories, or written records on the history of Columbia and Zachary Comstock, Elizabeth’s favorites had always centered mainly on the history of the arts, especially painting. She found the way the brushstrokes danced deliberately across the canvases of the ancient works to be fascinating and intoxicating. She often found herself tracing the patterns they created back and forth with her fingers, as if it were a dance that the artist had hidden away just for her to find.

Her dance was interrupted that day though, when her readings brought her face to face with a most indecent sight. Elizabeth had never seen a painting of a nude woman; in fact, the very idea of the nude form presented in arts was frowned upon in Columbia and Elizabeth could not help but to wonder where her guardian had come across such material. How scandalous this must have been! How deeply guilt ridden the book’s owner must have felt for daring to bring such material into the New Eden!

And yet, the painting, this Venus of Urbino as it was titled, seemed almost enthralling in her very beauty. This mysterious woman felt no shame from exposing her body for all to see; she seemed proud, almost daring, in the way she gazed directly at the viewer. It was as if she was daring all those who came across the painting to challenge her display.

It wasn’t until several moments later that Elizabeth realized she had not looked away from the woman since turning the page. Shame presented itself in the form of a rose colored blush upon her cheeks and she forced herself to slam the pages closed, resolving that such things were better left forgotten. Indeed, Elizabeth told herself, the book would be nothing more than a dust covered memory within a few days time.

Much to her annoyance though, it seemed that the image she had witnessed, the one that still caused her cheeks to burn as bright as roses were red, would not be so easily forgotten. Time and time again, for several days, she would find herself passing by the shelf where the curious book now sat, glancing cautiously over her shoulder as she passed, as if she feared that the book would inform someone that it was in her possession.

Each time she would catch herself, she would quickly grab another tome and bury her nose deep into the pages; eyes darting back and forth from each word, she found herself finishing whole chapters before she realized that she had not absorbed a single word and that instead her mind had been focused solely on the feeling, warm and pleasant, that sat in her belly as she recalled the image hidden away only steps away from her current position.

In fact, the feeling, that warm and pleasant tingling, followed her and crept into her body each time she thought of the book. When she took her meals, as she painted, or any of her other activities were not safe from the new sensations the book had presented to her. She found they even followed into her dreams, both in the sleeping and waking world, and it was there that she discovered their meaning.

The first time, it was Christine Daaé.

She was dancing, spinning in circles while laughter bubbled out past her lips. She moved gracefully, hands grasping the air as she pretended to dance along with a partner. The world around her disappeared from her thoughts and she only focused on that moment, how happy she truly felt to be there.

“ Oh, how wonderfully you dance, Miss Daaé! I find that I could spend the night in your arms!”

The name tumbled past her lips before she could think to stop herself and she stared at the space where her faux partner had stood in her mind’s eye. Her hands shot up, pressing into her lips as if she could force the words she had uttered back down her throat, as if she could will them out of existence, but the moment hung heavy and thick in the air.

She felt as though she could not breath.

Shortly thereafter, nearly every book in her library had been ripped from its shelf and thrown to the floor, discarded as she found they provided her with no explanation for her words. No science. No history. No words to ease her panic; she did not have merit and facts anymore. She felt once more like a child and fears that she did not know possible crept into her mind.

Was there something wrong with her?

Her eyes returned, slowly, back to her rows of empty shelves, as she searched and scanned for the answers she craved, but the were only met with a single book—the very book that contained the image that had started this dreaded nonsense.

With a cry, she ripped the cursed thing from its home and ran, tripping once on her way up the stairs, to the window. Her body shook and her eyes leaked tears of anger down her cheeks as she tore open the window with a scream. Her heart pounded and she looked back to the book, her hands gripping into the hard, heavy cover with such force that it flaked off in small chunks beneath her fingernails.

With a heave of her arms, she discarded the hellish thing, watching as it flew from the safety of her tower and fell to the earth below, never to be seen again.

What good had it done though, she found, if she still found herself no longer dreaming of handsome princes, but lady knights and queens? The book was gone and yet, so many questions remained. There were no books about ladies courting ladies; never had she read or heard of a wedding between two women.

What was this?

She took a moment to catch her breath and glanced towards the mess she had created. Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to tear itself free, and she truly feared that it would burst from her chest at any moment. She pressed a hand to her breast and fell to her knees, one hand still grasping onto the windowsill.

So, she thought, a smile curling its way onto her lips, this is what love felt like. She laughed, tossed her head back and jumped to her feet. Her heart continued to beat and her smile grew as she threw her arms wide and danced.

This was love.

Princes quickly became replaced with princesses and Elizabeth found herself editing book after book to contain the proper phrases. No more princes, no more heroes. Queens, lady knights, and women who fought and bled for a forbidden love replaced each and every one; when that was not enough, she wrote her own stories, or spent hours racing around her tower, imaging wonderful scenes of romance—scenes that were filled with kisses and touches and most importantly of love.

She danced with Catherine Earnshaw.

She kissed the lovely Cosette.

Christine Daaé sung love songs for her.

Her cage no longer seemed so dull; how could anything ever seem dull again when she felt like this? She was alive and heavens, if this was not love, she could not imagine what it could be. Everything felt in place and her stomach quaked with excitement and fear. This was everything she was supposed to be.

She had only to dream until her dreams came true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this a long time ago and never got around to finishing it, but decided to pick it back up a few days ago when I got some inspiration. The first chapter, as you read, deals heavily with Elizabeth discovering her sexuality and how she reacts to it, while the next chapter will be more focused on her discovery of what romance could blossom from it.


	2. Of Love

Tears proved to be useful in regards to her daydreams. She had only to open one and watch the world outside of her tower move and dance with the freedom she so desperately craved and after months of simply watching, sitting on her tower floor with her legs curled up underneath her.

It took practice and more effort than she thought it would have, to keep them open long enough to satisfy her desires, and she found herself remembering when it had once seemed so simple long ago. To her surprise, she would often tire herself before she was able to open anything larger than a small looking glass in size and the few times she was able to open doors big enough to truly observe, she would collapse, lungs gasping for oxygen and heart racing so fast she feared it would explode.

Those were nights she would fall onto her bed, sobbing and shaking, fearing that she was losing the only escape she had ever known.

It took her three full months before she was able to create tears of a satisfying size and for them to remain open for more than a fleeting moment. It took another two weeks before she was able to do so without splitting headaches, nosebleeds, and shooting pains torturing her small body and threatening to break her entirely.

Her room would shake with each movement and Elizabeth would yell in delight when she would find herself standing at the edge of her world and the other, balancing between the only life she knew and her dreams. Freedom seemed only a breath away, but each time she would step forward, they would snap closed before her eyes, locking her up in the cage once again.

Try as she might, she could never open one to freedom.

So windows they remained.

For days, she found herself curling up in a chair and watching the outside world through each window she could find. Some of Paris, others of New York; she looked into every world she could find, her heart ached with longing and hope, praying for anyone to come and free her from her gilded cage.

Hope, though, faded with each passing day and her tears soon became nothing more than a reminder of her sorrow. It was not long before she slowly began to cast them aside, no longer wanting to be reminded of things she could never have herself, but they continued to open, sometimes seemingly on their own. They seemed to beckon her to peer into them, promising her fleeting moments of the stories and life she desired.

One such tear opened not long after she herself tossed aside her silly daydreams once more and returned back to the comfort and knowledge of her books. This tear, unlike the others, did not show worlds that Elizabeth longed to escape to though and was instead filled with fire and smoke, and as she slowly approached the fluttering image, she could hear screams from within.

In a panic, she jumped back, as if the window would drag her inside to the hellish landscape if she was too careless and stepped any closer. With a shake of her head, she spread her arms wide, trying with all of her power to close the tear before such a thing happened.

“Elizabeth!”

She gasped and fell back, landing hard on her bottom and glanced around her tower with wide, fearful eyes, but found no one. The tear, she realized with a gasp, scrambling closer, her curiosity now outweighing any fear that had riddled her mind moments before. Glancing all around the borders of the world, she found herself calling out to the voice, wondering and becoming desperate to know who was calling for her.

She scrambled forward again, knees scraping against the stone floor beneath her, as her name was called again, this time the speakers voice more desperate and panicked itself. Only moments later, its owner stepped into view: a woman she did not recognize.

The woman spun around on her feet, looking all around her, but seemingly not noticing the tear that had opened only steps away from her. Elizabeth’s heart began to beat faster as she watched her; she appeared to be in a panic herself, as she searched for the female who shared her name.

“Elizabeth,” she called out once more and cupped her hands around her mouth, willing her voice to be louder. She turned, her body now facing Elizabeth and called out again.

It was then that Elizabeth noticed the blood matted into the woman’s hair, the dark, red liquid standing out against its own light brown. She gasped and reached forward, consumed with the desire to help the woman before she bled out before her. It took her several moments, and for the unknown woman to wipe at the offending fluid with a shaking hand, for Elizabeth to come to a sudden, horrifying realization. She quickly reached up, her clasping around her lips, holding back a alarmed gasp as she realized this blood did not belong to the woman in question and she was suddenly painfully aware of the gun the in the woman’s hand.

“Maxie!”

She continued to watch, eyes wide, as another figure ran into frame, leaping into the woman’s arms and hugging onto her as though she feared that she would vanish into thin air. Elizabeth shook, fear overtaking her body as she watched the this new woman, with a face all too familiar, bury her face against this Maxie’s shoulder, pressing her body against her as if every fiber of her being desired to be held against her. As if her very existence depended on it.

Elizabeth stared at the couple, despite her mind screaming for her to run and close the tear to this forsaken world. She stared at herself, clasping onto the taller female’s jacket, while she also continued to stand within the safety of her tower. She stared at herself, as the other her stood on her toes and planted a kiss on the lips of the other woman.

Her face burned.

The other Elizabeth turned and for a moment, Elizabeth swore that their eyes met. She swore that the other Elizabeth smiled and said something, but her ears were ringing too loudly to understand. Her head pounded. She shook. Maxie turned to glance at her too, but she still did not seem to notice her presence. She said something as well, but it did not matter.

There were two of her.

Her nose bled.

She collapsed to the ground, curling up around herself and digging her fingertips into her scalp, tearing forcefully at her hair. The pounding in her head grew louder – faster—and she began to heave. Some part of her mind, a small part that still seemed to have any control of its own, wondered if this is what it felt like to die.

The tear snapped closed.

The pounding stopped.

She gasped for air.

She remained on the floor, too frightened and in too much pain to move, for what seemed like hours, as she tried to process what she had just witnessed. She had been opening tears as long as she could remember, but not once could she recall coming across another version of herself. Not once had she seen the other girl either.

Who were they? How had she escaped the tower? Had this Maxie girl rescued her? Why was Columbia in ruins behind them? Why did they not care? These questions repeated in her mind over and over, threatening to break her all over again, while the burning on her cheeks remained.

They had kissed.

As the aching in her head died down, the scene, the kiss, replayed in her head as though it were a record. The questions seemed to grow ever less important with each second and they quickly were replaced with budding ideas of romance. True romance; a real romance, not one found in books or paintings, but one of which she was an active participant. A love in which she was safe and free, that is what the other her had, and now, more than ever, she craved it. Now, more than ever, it seemed that romance could be a reality and oh, how she craved that freedom.

The redness of her cheeks began to grow and she could not help but smile.

So this was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a sort of companion piece to another fic I hope to write in the future dealing with the same characters. Perhaps though, it is better to think of this fic as another reality entirely, as Elizabeth and Maxie will have ever seen each other before in that universe.
> 
> I suppose this is just a reality in which Elizabeth gets a glimpse into a world where she and Maxie have already met and fell in love.


End file.
